Blind Alpha And His Unwanted Mate
To her.
Aurora is stretched out on the blanket a few feet away, one knee bent, hair lifting and falling against her cheek whenever the wind decides to toy with her. She is reading on her Kindle, thumb moving in small, distracted motions as she scrolls. I still cannot get used to that thing. Reading, to me, means weight in your hands, paper that remembers every person who touched it before you, corners worn down by time. Aurora likes that too, I know she does. But she loves stories more than formats, and convenience wins when she wants to disappear into a book for a while.
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